


Cryptum

by stellarstatelogic



Series: Forerunner Chronicles: Mundus Calendarium [3]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Last Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarstatelogic/pseuds/stellarstatelogic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a house, torn and broken; its one last pillar, taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cryptum

_**MUNDUS CALENDARIUM ECUMENE XIX 99779** _

_**= Pillars of Eminence, Maethrillian =** _

 

Her eyes roamed across the countless diamond sparkles doting lively against the generous ultramarine backdrop. The skies was clear, the witnesses were present, the entire galaxy watching.

The stars fell — ships from across the Linnunrata flocked to their layered capitol of Maethrillian. The air was warm, or at least she felt so despite of how the faint mist sighed from her lips mocked her of her disoriented sensation. Her two pools of deep and timeless amethyst gave her companion of their nearly twenty-thousand years of Unbending Union, a soft blink of anguish, as her face tilted towards the platform of gray and its bluish strands of light that would lead them into the majestically floating argent fortresses hanging right above the blue veils of eternal vastness.

The Lifeshaper always had her ways — adorning political duties and social responsibilities over her own personal desires and preferences was a skill she had acquired through experience and was born to do. She was fruitful with her wishes, to be able to bear presence at the Pillars of Eminence as one of the many representatives to watch over the Warriors' Exile, and to bear witness the Sealing Ceremony of the Protector of the Ecumene. In retrospect, it was out of the Master Builder's grace, for he had supported her selfish request. They had a pact at the Haruspises demise, but even they hold no power over the world of Living, the Master Builder's Mantle shelters all through its retributive justice.

 

* * *

 

She recalled. How they have mediated together before their parting — when time was running out, and she chose to spend the last moment she would have with her husband. In his arms, she roamed in her own memories while he followed. They dreamed, if the Forerunners could dream or have called it dreaming. In their dream, they've walked through the Seventh Garden of Nightingales, a place which he adored the most during his stay in the Terrarium of Charum Hakkor; in their dream, they've gazed together across the frosting planes of Wyrd, where he would take her as his wife; in their dream, they've stepped through the threshold of their new domicile on Nomdagro with hopeful anticipation; their children were all born there, all happy and youthful and mischievously kind.

It was good, for a while. A good twenty millennia lived. How much would she wish that time could simply stop at that moment. Be eternally happy, or at least have let happiness prevail over their shortcomings.

Then the Haruspises came to take him. He heeded, by the oath which he has sworn as the Protector. The Rank required him to live as an exemplar of his kind. She knew, and she followed in accordance.

 

* * *

 

A deep, calming voice called to her by her birth-name and she turned towards the other in response. Her gloved palms in raven black contrasted against his platinum helm when she slowly reached towards his cheeks. He bowed briefly for her to reach, and gently cuddled her by her waist to lift her up so her the crystal on her forehead could touch his. His crude hands gently brushed away her fair bangs and rubbed his armored thumb against the soft of her cheek, tending her as if she was a delicate flower.

She took her time to indulge herself into his wordless farewell from such intimacy; she was at ease, and cared less of how the stars were witnessing this very moment. The voices from the stars, of pities and sneers, unheard and distant while his whispers began to flood within her ears with a sense of warmth that she has chosen to believe it as something real and sure. His last words, woven by a dialect ancient shared only between themselves and those who held virtuous of Warrior values, bade his last wishes before her pale face shielded in a paler mask of jet black headgear.

"The Time has come." said the Protector from within his headgear, and she could feel how his voice was echoing between the dimensions filling their world-lines; "and I must serve."

She nodded, and made no sounds of whimper nor sob when he landed her back onto the floor. His fingers coved her slenderer ones briefly for their sheathed palms to touch, then finally, reluctantly, released her from his form to join the vast shadows of gray and blue. His destination was prominent and imminent — a metallic sphere strung string-less from the night skies. Its shards slowly opened in adherence to the old Promethean's approach, like a reversed lotus blossom of luminous gray. The rim of those fractal petals pulsed in shades of sunshine orange, ominous and foreboding, awaiting to devour its captive.

In grave silence behind the expressionless mask, her gazes settled upon him as his armor began to shed and promptly be swallowed into the uprising lights. She could recognize by eons worth of memories imprinted when the Haruspices' archaic chants imbued into his legacy — of solemn obituary praising the eternity of stars and meta-dimensions. The Librarian watched as her husband's form gradually shriveled and felt how he was slowly dispersing from every gradient of their established connection. His impression within her was being replaced by the voices of the Domain, chanted through the tongues of the Haruspices in Archaic Digon, ominously unanimous, from their planes of ossifying echoes:

 _"O' Xankara,_  
_Thy force illustrious._  
_In silence, remembrance._  
_In stars, solace._  
_In rest, eternity."_

From within the mesmerizing chant, her gazes trailed onward to keenly scan over every inch and corner of his preserved form as he would soon be swallowed into the uprising lights of blue. Her hands drew upwards into a graceful arc while his entire physiques stood bare before her across the distance. She felt tears hazing from the rim of her eyes, seeing how the Cryptum's deep hum synchronized and harmonized into an eeriness as its petals widened to welcome the Promethean into its embrace. Xankara. The Eternal Dream. Her hands slowly closed into each other to form a gesture symbolizing the Warrior's peace and temperance as a soft thump and murmuring pitches of light streamed within the seams of the sphere.

The Millennial Seal has been done.

 

* * *

 

She returned to her own duties hours later, after seeing the Didact's sealing ceremony — along with all the Warriors that have followed their leader into their ends in the name of fidelity, and after having to return to the Council chamber to deliver a proper report and to discuss her pact with the Master Builder for utilizing his Arrays as a safe haven for pilot studies on the Reseeding Measure.

She was finally home.

But what is a home without a family?

She has seen the faces of war-barren lands and war-torn individuals alike; she has seen the faces of refugees drained by weariness and unrest and replaced by fear and distrust. Human and Forerunner alike, there wasn't much difference. They came to her, they needed a home, a shelter, a place to raise children without being threatened by the Parasite or their adversaries, and she provided them a promise, a promise of a new future, a promise of a new galaxy. Her own future and her own home held lesser priority as the front-line against the Parasite's campaign became the Lifeshaper's to bear, because her children would never be able to see home ever again, and her husband will no longer be at her side—

— _Until the fruit she bear is ripen._

Chant and Calyx begged her to rest, knowing how she would always refuse by a wordless shake of her head. They could not force her to drop her work, knowing the pain she was bearing was karmic in its very nature. The guilt within her was a strong motivation, and her rare stubbornness unraveled itself with the lack of her husband's temperament. She had legitimate reasons, however, she had to worked in diligence and dedication in seek to outrun their enemy. It is giving the Forerunners their time, it has given them time, and she knew her people will soon run out of it.


End file.
